A prologue-ending introduction

Maybe we should start saying the things we really mean.

Let’s start by the usual hellos and goodbyes we constantly miss

everytime we go directly to our folly alibis of got-to-runs and maybe-next-times.

We deny each other the usual intros that could’ve made us the step-by-step kind

of people, but

this is maybe because we don’t owe each other such courtesy and

perhaps we thought we deserve better from each other,

yet nobody asked for more.

Let’s start by being refreshingly honest about how seismic it gets

when we pound each other’s senses in decent un-superficial arguments,

debating in the wee hours over how selfish the universe is, and how

we, in our blind paradoxes of this and that, can’t even be.

For a change, let’s start by thinking we are alone, away from the

yesterdays and todays, worry-free of the distorted tomorrows;

that between us are only deep long breaths, and

chained words of awe –

only chained words of delight in the temporary highs of our occasional madness.

The craziness of the entire humanity has to stop for at least eleven minutes

all in still for this you-and-i moment, this once-in-a-lifetime planetary alignment

of shiny souls in rust and spark.

Maybe we should start saying the things we really mean.

So here goes the ridiculous metaphor of a change in my diet.

Caffeine and fries were my favorite, but somehow, I’ve eventually been

craving for you. Don’t worry I don’t need you deep fried or boiled,

I just wanted you raw.

I’m not sure if the usual rise and fall of this appetite is healthy,

but despite stomach pains and heartaches,

I’ve always wanted more of you.

And I know I could never gather enough nutrition, cause I may

never be enough, and more is too much,

but I’ve craved for you anyway –

I’ve craved for you in the nights I’m thirsty of meaning,

in the days I hunger for wildfire.

I’ve craved for you even when I’m already full of someone else.

But I am now all bones cause of you, lover.

This feeling kept me malnourished of waiting,

diagnosed with a you-and-i disease of a thought,

kept me long connected to but an oxygen-tube kind of hope.

Craving, wanting, has been easy. But I’m famished,

and this body doesn’t want this anymore.

So before we start saying the things we really mean,

here is the box of words I kept on the times you left me at awe.

Here are my moonlight kisses and concealed cackling smiles over

cheap narratives of our beautiful lunacy.

Take our total eclipses with you.

Bury them deep with my bizarre daydreaming and silly

once-upon-a-times.

This heart is finally exhausted, lover.

So even before we start, here is our eleven minutes;

here are our hellos and goodbyes.